Don't Let Me Fall
by Nuwanda
Summary: Lawrence and Ali could not have gotten off to a worse start. If they ever saw the last of each other, it could not happen soon enough. But some things change. I'm horrible at summaries. I apologize.
1. Chapter 1

From the very first moment Lawrence had laid eyes on Sherif Ali ibn el Kharish, he had hated the man. There had never been any other option, not after he had shot and killed Tafas.

But it went deeper than that. He just had an air about him. That smile on his face when he told Lawrence he was welcome to the well. The way he borrowed Lawrence's cup, declaring "I will use it," with a tone as though he were bestowing some great favor upon the Englishman by doing so. How pleased he looked that Lawrence had heard his name before. But most of all the way he simply refused to be flustered by anything Lawrence said. That insufferable smirk of his drove Lawrence crazy. He wanted to punch it off the Harith's face.

Unfortunately, it wasn't likely he would ever get the chance. It wouldn't be very good for English-Arab relations if he went around hitting one of Prince Feisal's top men. Still, a man could dream.

Things didn't go much better at their second meeting. At least no one died this time. But for some reason, Ali wasn't nearly so cordial. He seemed extremely resentful of Lawrence's presence there. Distrustful, perhaps. Well, Lawrence wasn't there to please him. Actually, if he managed to irritate Ali now and again, so much the better, in his opinion.

But he had to solve Feisal's problem. That was the issue, first and foremost. Lawrence sat up all night, wracking his brain. He was vaguely aware that he had two shadows, the boys who had been tailing him the entire trip there, but he had no time to spare for them now. It wasn't until dawn that he finally had a solution fully mapped out in his head.

"Aqaba."

Ali was on his feet in an instant, shock in his eyes. "You are mad!"

Lawrence couldn't deny that he took great pleasure in the expression on Ali's face. Maybe the judgement in his voice should have been upsetting but instead Lawrence felt an overwhelming sensation of almost….pride? Was it pride? He dared to do something Ali did not. Yes, he would wipe all traces of the smugness from their encounter at the well right off that bastard's face.

Ali agreed to the mission, as Lawrence knew he would. Say what you would about the man, he didn't lack courage, and above all else, he was devoted to Feisal and the cause; Lawrence had to give him that. But he would award the Harith nothing else.

Several days into the journey, Lawrence realized just how over-confident he had been. Ali had been right: the Nefud was worse than anything Lawrence had ever experienced, and this was coming from a man who put out matches with his bare fingers for fun. Yet Ali was unfazed, at least outwardly. While this made perfect sense (Ali had been born in Arabia, grown up here), it still frustrated Lawrence more than he could say.

The crowning failure was when Ali caught him asleep on his camel during the day's ride. He was rudely awakened by a sharp _thwap_ as Ali hit him with his riding crop. His cheeks burned with humiliation. To be caught sleeping by Ali after all of his boastful words…..it was mortifying. He tried to deny it, but Ali saw right through him, so he gave in and admitted to his transgression, submitting to Ali's scolding. The smug bastard.

Well, two could play at this game. Lawrence simply refused to let it get to him, doubling down on his casual air, even going so far as to tell Ali that he would wake him up when it was time to resume their travels (that got under Ali's skin, he could tell). Still, despite all this feigned indifference, he couldn't hide his relief when they had finally crossed the Sun's Anvil safely.

Until he realized that Gasim was missing. Then, despite the weakness overwhelming his body, despite the fact that he was on the verge of collapse, he knew he had to go back. This was his fault. He had brought these men here. He was responsible for them. The point was driven home by Ali as he hissed "Gasim you have killed already!"

The words stung. He didn't want them to be true. He refused to let them be true. So he ignored the screaming pain, the exhaustion, ignored _Ali_ , and turned back towards the Sun's Anvil.

If there was one thing that made leaving that much easier, it was Ali's reaction. At Lawrence's words, his actions, Ali positively exploded. Lawrence couldn't help but find it a bit amusing, and it gave him the tiny surge of strength he needed to return to the burning heat of the Anvil.

He had truly never doubted finding Gasim, or making it back. What he hadn't expected was the expression on Ali's face. The shock, quickly melting away into….respect? He had never thought to see Ali look at him that way. For some reason, it made his heart beat faster, pounding away for no reason he could understand. Then they were face to face, and Ali was smiling as he offered the skin of water. Lawrence had never seen him smile. He couldn't help thinking how lovely it was.

And then Ali offered up his own bed. It seemed impossible, but he did. Lawrence tried to remove his jacket, fingers trembling, but he was so exhausted, and the cot looked so inviting. He collapsed, face first, immediately taking in the scent of Ali lingering on the blanket. He only had time to notice how pleasant the smell was before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Waking that night was strange. His body felt so weak and it took a moment to remember why. Then his long ride to rescue Gasim came flooding back, along with the memory of Ali, the way he had looked at Lawrence…those eyes….

He realized with a start of surprise that Ali was a mere foot or so away, and those very eyes were staring intently at him right that moment. It was startling, but not unpleasant. Though not as pleasant as the way Ali's face was glowing. Ali had never looked at him that way before. There was a softness to his face that had never before been there when he had spoken to Lawrence. To his men, to his camel…..those he cared about, Lawrence realized, with dawning shock. He accepted the food that Ali called for, only realizing as he began to eat just how hungry he was.

"El Aurens…"

His gaze snapped up, astonished to hear that "El", that term of respect, given to him by Ali. But the smile on Ali's face was equally surprising.

"Truly, for some men nothing is written unless _they_ write it."

The words melted his heart. Still, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Not 'El Aurens'," he corrected. "Just Lawrence."

Ali wasn't deterred by the correction. "El Aurens is better."

Lawrence had to concede the point, nodding. "True."

Silence fell between them as Lawrence shoveled as much food in as quickly as possible. God, he was hungry. Ali was still watching him, but for some reason, it wasn't making him uncomfortable. When at last the Harith spoke up, his tone was curious.

"Your father too, just Mr. Lawrence?"

Oh God. Suddenly he wasn't so hungry anymore. Lawrence leaned back against the saddle resting beneath his head. "My father is Sir Thomas Chapman."

"Is that a Lord?"

"A kind of a Lord."

"Then when he dies, you too will be a Lord."

Ali sounded pleased, almost proud. And despite the fact that up until several hours ago, the two of them hadn't been getting along, Lawrence hated to disappoint him. "No," he said softly.

"Ah. You have an elder brother." Ali's voice was sympathetic. Lawrence could almost laugh at the situation were it not so horribly awkward, so painful.

"No." He prayed that Ali would just figure it out and let the matter drop.

No such luck.

"But then….I do not understand this….your father's name is Chapman-"

Lawrence cut him off. "Ali. He didn't marry my mother."

Ali was very silent. Lawrence couldn't look at him, didn't want to see what sort of expression he was wearing now. "I see." Whatever that tone was in his voice, Lawrence couldn't read it.

"I'm sorry." His voice was a whisper, though he didn't know why. It was nothing to be ashamed of, yet for some reason, he didn't want to disappoint Ali.

After several more agonizing minutes, Ali broke the silence, his voice gentle. "It seems to me that you are free to choose your own name, then."

The words were completely unexpected. Lawrence looked at Ali in surprise. Those dark eyes were smiling softly at the Englishman.

"Yes," he managed, "I suppose I am."

Ali smiled. "El Aurens is best."

Lawrence could feel the heat rise in his face, warmth flooding his entire body. His heart began to beat so fast he thought Ali would hear it for sure. He wondered if the Harith had any idea what an enormous gift he had just given.

"Alright," he whispered. "I'll settle for 'El Aurens."

With that, Aurens rolled over, turning away before Ali could see the happy tears filling his eyes. But that didn't stop him from feeling it as Ali tugged the blanket up over him, tucking him in. A happiness he had never known overwhelmed him, making him feel safe and loved, wrapping him tightly in its warm embrace until he fell into the first truly peaceful sleep he had ever known.

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

To be perfectly honest, right from the very beginning Ali hadn't known what to make of Aurens. Their introduction hadn't been a good one, that much was perfectly true. But the way Lawrence _looked_ at him…..his blue eyes were hard, pure hatred in them. Ali wasn't used to that, to someone wearing their feelings so openly. It fascinated him, maybe even more so because Lawrence's voice was so soft, the emotion bubbling just below the surface. Maybe he was trying to keep it all under control because they would both be working for Feisal? Whatever the reason, it was interesting.

Then he called Ali…..what was it….."silly, barbarous, and cruel". _That_ wasn't so amusing. Still, Ali couldn't help but be intrigued, even more so when Lawrence refused his offer of help, that coolness never failing, not even when Ali threatened to take his compass. Ali couldn't help but respect that. "God be with you, English." And amazingly, he truly meant the words.

Meeting Lawrence a second time wasn't as pleasant. However interesting the man may be, Ali didn't trust British officers, especially when they seemed supportive of the Arab cause. At least this man Brighton made his intentions clear, telling them that the English would not attack Aqaba. Aurens, on the other hand, quoted scripture to Feisal, capturing his attention, then went on to contradict everything Brighton said. If it was an act, it was a damn good one. Brighton certainly seemed upset by it. When they all retired for the night, Feisal asked Aurens to stay behind, even after Ali had left. Dammit, did that make him angry. He was burning to know what the Englishman was saying in there. But he would not question Feisal. Still, he watched from the shadows as Aurens emerged from the tent. The man had an extremely pensive look on his face, brow furrowed in thought. Ali watched Aurens pace long into the night. He remained up, maintaining a silent watch with those two young boys who had taken such a liking to Aurens ( _God_ knows why), keeping his distance so he would not be seen. Only when Aurens finally stirred in the early hours of the morning did he move, returning to his tent before he could be noticed.

And then Aurens revealed his plan. Aquaba. The man had to be insane. Ali felt that already familiar irritation at Aurens' presumption, the way he assumed crossing the Nefud would be easy. Still, despite that, he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect growing. The mere fact that Aurens would even dare to attempt the journey was worthy of admiration, even more so when one took into account the fact that he had in fact found his way to Feisal without a guide. Maybe he _could_ make the trip.

So Ali agreed. It was worth a try. They would only be risking fifty men, which was not a large loss to Feisal in the grand scheme of things, and if they pulled it off, the reward would be great. And if he was lucky, he would get a chance to see Aurens suffer a little along the way. Maybe it was petty; he didn't care.

He got his wish. Aurens hid it well, but it was easy to see that he was suffering. Ali felt a little guilty that he got pleasure out of the sight, but he couldn't help but be happy that the man would find out for himself: Life in the desert was not easy. One way or another, Aurens would learn that.

Even better was when he caught the man asleep on his camel. Oh God, was that satisfying. Ali gave Aurens a smack with his riding crop, hitting just a tiny bit harder than he normally would (so who could blame him…..it was hot and Aurens was annoying). The Englishman tried to deny that he had been drifting but Ali simply stared at him levelly. "You were drifting."

"….yes," Aurens admitted. Oh, it was so gratifying to hear. "It will not happen again."

"Be warned. You were drifting." He had to rub it in, he just had to.

The Englishman turned to him, displeasure written on his face, but he knew he had been caught in a bad position and clearly didn't want to fight. Still, he annunciated every word of his reply, his irritation clear. " _It will not happen again_."

Smug, Ali rode off. This trip was proving more enjoyable than he had expected.

He was relieved when they made it across the Sun's Anvil, though he refused to let it show. Relieved until he realized that somewhere along the way, Gasim had fallen from his camel, and been left behind. To have made it through the Nefud and only lose one man was good, but not good enough. He felt an overwhelming surge of anger towards Aurens, an anger that only grew when the man insisted he was going back.

"Go back, then! English! Blasphemer!" He was screaming and he couldn't quite explain why. "What did you bring us here for, with your blasphemous conceit?"

He was even more furious at the way that Aurens completely ignored him, simply riding past as he continued to yell. "Go back, blasphemer! But you will not be at Aqaba!"

That finally seemed to get Aurens' attention and he turned. The smile on his face almost made Ali explode. "I shall be at Aqaba. _That_ is written. Here." And he tapped his forehead. With that he turned away again and rode off.

Ali didn't know that he had ever been so angry as he was at this moment. His entire body was trembling with rage as he watched Aurens disappear from sight. "ENGLISH! _ENGLISH!_ "

After that there was nothing to do but wait. The other men got some much needed rest and refreshment, and watered the camels. Ali could not rest. He sat moodily drawing patterns in the dirt with his riding crop, unable to get a moment's peace, still fuming. It was an indescribable feeling of rage, so many emotions bubbling inside him. He was furious with Aurens. For bringing them on this trip in the first place, and for leaving them now.

And yet he was also….afraid? He didn't want to see Aurens disappear into that desert, never to return. He didn't want Aurens to die. Somehow, despite all the frustrations and irritations, he had grown attached to the man. The Englishman had been the one to come up with this plan, as crazy as it had been, and despite the odds, had survived the Nefud. To see him die now due to some overdeveloped sense of loyalty to a man he barely knew…..Ali hated to think of it.

A sudden cry split the relative quiet. Ali's ears pricked up. Looking, he saw Farraj charging down the hill where he had been keeping lookout, stumbling in his hurry and falling, nearly rolling down half of it.

 _It can't be._

But it had to. Only one thing could have the boy that excited. Ali was on his feet in an instant, skin of water in his hand, dark eyes searching and….yes. There they were, Daud and Aurens, with a very tired looking Gasim clinging to his waist.

Ali couldn't believe his eyes. He strode through the crowd, knowing how exhausted and parched Aurens must be. Suddenly, he realized that Aurens was looking his way, those eyes locked on him. It made his heart skip a little beat for no reason he could understand.

Many people were offering Aurens water, but for some reason, he wasn't accepting any of them. Then he stopped, camel kneeling right beside Ali. Those eyes found him again, those eyes that had struck him so deeply at their first meeting. He realized yet again just how piercing a blue they were.

Smiling, he stepped forward and offered the water to Aurens. Both of them saw it for what it was: a peace offering. His heart raced nervously as he waited to see if Aurens would accept.

He did.

Pausing, water in hand, Aurens whispered "nothing is written," in a voice dry from hours spent in the desert, then drank long and deep.

Several men offered their beds to Aurens, but he passed them all. Ali waited to see if he would do the same with Ali's, but no; this time, he accepted. Ali watched him nearly collapse onto the blanket, briefly nuzzling his face against the rough fabric before he fell asleep.

It was many hours later when Aurens awoke. Ali was ridiculously happy to see that he wasn't the only one whose mood had changed. Aurens was much more open with him, even smiling as they spoke, and this time not that smug little smile that made Ali want to hit him.

Then came the awkward revelation about his father. For a moment, Ali was worried that he had overstepped his bounds, that all the progress they had made this day would be lost. Aurens looked so regretful, and for some reason even apologized to Ali. Apologized! As if Ali would think any less of him for having unmarried parents.

When Ali spoke again, his voice was soft. "It seems to me…that you are free to choose your own name, then."

The reaction was immediate. Aurens' head snapped up; he looked at Ali in surprise. Ali's heart was beating so fast, like a small bird, so nervous that he had said something wrong.

But Aurens wasn't upset. "Yes," he answered, "I suppose I am."

Ali smiled. "El Aurens is best."

The most beautiful expression came over Aurens' face. It was a smile…small, but it was there, and such an honest happiness that Ali felt he could melt on the spot. "Alright," the Englishman whispered. "I'll settle for 'El Aurens." With that, he turned away, but not before Ali saw the tears filling his eyes. Still, he knew they were tears of gladness. He had said something right…made Aurens happy. And despite the fact that up until several hours ago, they had been at each other's throats, that made him happier than he had felt in…..God. How long had it been?

Leaning in, he pulled the blanket up over Aurens (how nice was that name to say now, knowing Aurens had accepted it as his real name, not just the one the Arabs could easily pronounce?). Then, a thought occurred. Moving to the makeshift line they had hung Aurens' clothes up to dry on, he picked up each piece and threw them onto the fire one by one. An ordinary British uniform was not good enough for El Aurens. He would do something about that first thing tomorrow.

 **~tbc~**


End file.
